


The Theater, The Theater

by Efstitt



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Carousel spoilers, Child Abuse, F/M, George Bailey what’s he want, Hurt/Comfort, I think I’m just angry, Let Crutchie Say Fuck, Physical Abuse, Strong Language, This is violent y’all, Whump, cuz I can’t curse at work so I come home and write this stuff, dealing with death, ok cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-12 22:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Efstitt/pseuds/Efstitt
Summary: Please comment!Jack and Katherine meet at the theater when they do a show together. Jack is new, Katherine less so, she likes him, his life is a mess. My summary is awful.
Relationships: Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber
Comments: 80
Kudos: 30





	1. Auditions and Dinner

What was he even doing here. He checked the address again and looked up and down the street. What if this was some kind of sex trafficking ring or something. He’d be in the back of some truck, never to be heard from again. Not that anyone would mind, he thought, rolling his eyes a little. Better get a move on before someone thinks you’re casing the place, Kelly. He reached for the door handle and pulled the door open. No one was in the lobby. The doors in front of him were open, though. He kept walking, startled when the floor started to drop away as the floor turned into an aisle. He stumbled a bit, clinging to the back of a couple of seats before regaining his balance. Nice entrance, jackass.

The lady who asked him to audition was seated in the middle of the theatre, a long table set up in front of her, covered in papers, with its own lamp. She turned, her hand shielding her eyes. “Come in, come in! Jack, you made it!”

Jack half smiled and gave a little wave. What are you, the queen of England? Say hello, asshole. “Hey, um, Miss Medda.” He shoved his hands in his jeans. 

“Go on up onto the stage, Jack. You’re third in line.” Medda turned back to the stage. “Plumber? Katherine Plumber?” Katherine walked forward from the crowd of people at the back of the stage.

Jack walked slowly up to the stage, trying to figure out how he was supposed to get up there. No steps. He stopped and looked down the length of the stage. No steps at all. Fine. As he heaved himself up on the edge of the stage, flinging his leg up, he saw this Katherine Plumber watching him, open mouthed. Well, how did she do it, he wondered. Did she fucking fly? He rolled onto the stage as he recognized the universal sign of girls who can’t believe how dumb boys are—the covered mouth, raised eyebrows, and big eyes. He got up and dusted himself off, glowering. He scowled at the kids at the back of the stage as he joined them.

”Katherine, please. You may begin,” called Medda. Katherine nodded and made one gesture to Jack before starting her piece, pointing to the steps at the edge of the stage. They faced the side wall, not the seats. Fucking hell, he was stupid.

He stood to the side, listening to Katherine sing her piece, trying to remember the words to his own. Soon enough, Medda called his name, and he went to the same place Katherine had stood. He could sing, he knew that. He could see Katherine out of the corner of his eye. Well, she’d know why he was here after all. He let himself enjoy singing in the theater, filling the space. Wow, he liked that. 

“Thank you, Jack. Come back tomorrow when the cast list is posted.” Medda smiled at him.

He jerked his head a little. “Okay, Miss Medda. Um, see you then.”

Jack left the theater, walking fast. He’d need to hurry to his usual stops. 

“Hey, wait!” he heard. “What’s your name?”

He turned. “Jack,” he said.

Katherine fluttered down the sidewalk. “I haven’t seen you here before. You were really good,” she said. “You haven’t been around too many theaters, though, have you.”

“Thanks. And, um, no.” He put his hands in his pockets again. “Uh, so were you. Really good, I mean.” He really had to get going.

“You want to get something to eat? You can tell me how you got to be such a great singer.” She pointed across the street to a string of little restaurants.

“No, thanks, I gotta get going.” Would she please stop. She seemed nice enough, but if he didn’t move now...

“Oh, okay,” she said, disappointed. “Well, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he said. He gave her a nod of his head and walked as fast as he could until he was around the corner, when he started to sprint.

He held the bag in his teeth as he fumbled with the key. Please, please, please, please. Finally he flung the door open, relieved to see only Crutchie sitting on the floor in the corner, trying to do a worksheet with a pencil shorter than his thumb.

“Jack! Where were you! Didja get anything?” Crutchie grabbed his crutch and crossed the room.

“Yeah, here,” Jack said, handing him the bag. “I already had mine. The rest is yours.”

“Sweet! Fries!” Crutchie pulled out a handful, smiling at Jack. “He ain’t here yet.” Crutchie went back to his spot.

“Good,” said Jack, putting his backpack next to Crutchie’s and settling on the floor next to him. “Mom awake?”

“No, she passed out hours ago.”

“Okay. What are you working on?” Jack tried to see the worksheet.

“Spanish. We have a quiz tomorrow.”

“Bueno,” said Jack. “Do good, yeah? One of us has to do good in school.”

The apartment door slammed open. Jack didn’t even open his eyes. He pulled his sleeping bag around him a little. Crutchie was holding his breath, he could tell. Please pass out, please pass out.

“Where’s mine, boy?” A slurred voice grumbled. “I can smell ‘em. You had fries. Where’s mine.” Jack lay still. “I said, where’s mine?!” The voice rose to a shout. Footsteps strode across the floor. Jack braced himself, and the kick landed in his gut. Jack contracted. The next kick landed on his shin. Fuck. Jack rolled over, away from Crutchie, hoping Crutchie would stay quiet.

Snyder pulled Jack up by his hair so that Jack was up on his knees. “Nothing for me, huh? Ungrateful bastard,” Snyder snarled. He hit Jack in the jaw, sending him flying into the window sill and down on top of Crutchie. Jack’s head rang. Keep it together, Kelly. He could feel Crutchie shivering in fear beneath him.

Jack shook his head. He scrambled off of Crutchie and got to his feet. Shit, his leg hurt. “I’ll get you some tomorrow,” he said, holding his hands out, palms up, towards Snyder. “I’m sorry!” Jack felt blood trickling down his cheek. Blood in his mouth.

Snyder swayed. “Fuckin’ useless,” he said. He lunged at Jack, grabbing him by his t-shirt with his left hand. His hand went back and he smacked Jack across the face. Jack tried to wrest free but was no match for Snyder. Snyder smacked him three more times before throwing him down. Snyder stumbled to the bedroom and slammed the door.

“Jacky? You okay?” Crutchie whispered at last.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jack whispered. He pulled the open sleeping bag around him again, wishing the zipper still worked. It’d be harder to get pulled out of it then. “Go back to sleep.”

“You going to school tomorrow?”

“I dunno. Depends on how bad I look.” Jack knew he shouldn’t swallow blood, but he didn’t want to risk waking Snyder by going to the sink and running the water.

“You bleeding?”

“Yeah.”

”Use my t-shirt, Jacky.” Jack felt Crutchie move around and push the shirt at his face in the dark.

“Thanks, Crutchie. It’s good. Put it back on. You’ll get cold.” Jack handed it back. He laid there, listening to Crutchie rustle around and gradually settle into his sleeping bag. Jack turned toward him and reached for Crutchie’s hand. Crutchie grabbed it and held it tight. Slowly Jack stopped shaking. He stayed awake until it was time to get Crutchie up for school.


	2. Dinner 2

Jack stood in the lobby of the theater, hood up, waiting for the other kids to look at the cast list before taking a look himself.

Katherine suddenly appeared at his elbow, squeezing his arm. “I knew it! You’ll be a great Billy!” Jack peered over the other kids’ heads with his good eye. Well, there he was. Billy Bigelow. Julie Jordan, Katherine Plumber. She was second on the list, so he guessed that meant she had the girl lead.

“Rehearsal schedule, everyone! Take one now! Tattoo it on your forehead backwards!” Medda called out, walking through the lobby, wielding a sheaf of purple papers.

Jack took one and started to read. Cripes, it was a lot. He’d never be home in time for Crutchie every day. Maybe he could get Crutchie here every now and then. It depended. Mom needed Crutchie. Sometimes. Maybe he shouldn’t do this theater thing. Why had he listened to Medda. Sang a stupid solo at school and she’d trapped him.

“Jack, here’s your score and script. Katherine, here are yours,” said Medda, making a second pass through the lobby. “Get busy, kids. It’s a lot to learn!”

“Ready to get something to eat now? Or are you still too busy?” Katherine asked. Jack snapped out of it. Shit. “Hey, are you okay? What happened?”

“I gotta go,” he said, “sorry.” He stuffed his papers into his backpack. “See you tomorrow.” He nearly ran out the door.

“I can give you a ride home,” she called. “I’ve got a car!”

“No, thanks!” he shouted. Fuck that.

Crutchie sat back. “They make good burgers, Jacky,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Gimme the bag and wrapper back,” said Jack. “I’ll take them to the dumpster this time.”

Crutchie handed them over. “Mom passed out early again today.”

“Fine,” said Jack. “Easier for us.” He stood up and opened the door. “I’ll be right back.” He clattered down the steps, wishing the garbage chute wasn’t all clogged up all the time. He rushed around a corner and smashed into Snyder. Early, dammit.

“What’re we having today, Jack?” Snyder snatched the bag out of Jack’s hands, sniffing it. “Burgers? You left one for me, right?” He blocked Jack’s path.

Jack looked at the bag. “I just got one, I swear. Ain’t any fries.” He tried to go the other way, but Snyder shifted over.

“You wouldn’t have a place to stay without me, Jack,” he breathed. “You need to be more grateful. Or did you like that shithole you were living in before?” Which one, Jack wondered. This one had a little heat, which was nice, especially for Crutchie.

“Look at me, boy,” Snyder said. “Go get me a burger and don’t come back till you got one.” He grabbed Jack’s hoodie and twisted around, holding Jack over the last several steps down. Jack held his breath. Snyder laughed and threw him down the steps. Jack tried to get his arms around his head. He lay still on the floor, breathing hard. Snyder threw the crumpled bag at Jack and turned back up the stairs. Jack listened to Snyder go up the next three floors. He felt for broken bones. Nothing that he could tell. His shoulder hurt like crazy. He stood up slowly, testing himself out. His ribs were sore, but mostly he’d banged up his shoulder. Fine. He was fine.

Get another burger? Right. But Crutchie. He had to get back there before Snyder turned on him too. Jack ran back to the burger joint. It was past the peak dinner hour. Not as many customers, naturally. Jack pulled his hoodie down off of his head so they wouldn’t mistake him for a bank robber. Maybe people would feel sorry for him. He grimaced. Crutchie. He went in, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t make eye contact with the girls at the counter. He walked slowly by the trash, trying to be casual as he looked in. Nothing. He walked back towards the restroom, looking at all the booths, just in case. Still nothing. In the next-to-last booth was an older couple. They weren’t even close to finishing. Jack stopped and waited for them to look at him. What he wouldn’t do to pay for it. Should he tell them he had a job once? Fuck this moving shit all the time. The chicken, asshole. Get the chicken.

“You gonna eat that?” Jack asked, pointing at the chicken strips still in the basket. Not a burger, but maybe good enough. 

“You want it?” asked the older man. “You can have it, son. You look like you could use a break.”

Jack grabbed the chicken in his hands, then wrapping them in a napkin. “Thanks, mister.” He ran back to the apartment, running up the stairs. His shoulder was screaming. He could barely turn the key in the lock, turning his whole body with it in an effort not to move his shoulder. Panting, he looked around for Snyder.

“Well, look who’s scared shitless of me,” said Snyder, lying on the mattress in the bedroom, hands behind his head. He turned back to the tv. “Bring it here, boy.” Still trying to catch his breath, Jack brought the chicken over. Snyder took it and looked up. “What the fuck is this? I said a burger, you moron!”

“It’s all I could get. I can go back...” Jack reached for the chicken, but Snyder held it away from him and watched Jack for a moment.

“What, you think I’m gonna let you have it?” Snyder grinned and put all of the chicken in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed a few times. “Get me a beer to wash it down with, asshole.”

“Jacky, you said you found two burgers,” whispered Crutchie.

Jack didn’t move. He lay on his back, shoulder throbbing. “Go to sleep, Crutchie.”


	3. Library and Lights Out

Jack looked in the mirror. No school today either, he thought, gently poking at his cheek. Shit. Why did he always do that. He went back to Crutchie and gently shook him.

“Crutchie, time for school,” he whispered. “You gotta get going.”

Crutchie turned and opened an eye to look at Jack. “You going?”

“Nah, not yet,” said Jack. “Tell them I’m still sick. We got bread if you want breakfast.”

“I’m good,” said Crutchie, stretching. “You go ahead and have it. Gimme my crutch, will ya.” Jack handed it to him and headed back to the kitchen. Okay, so bread was a hot dog bun. There was mustard to dress it up a little. Jack didn’t know if Snyder would notice if Jack ate it, but he made himself a mustard bun anyway and snarfed it down. Screw him. Snyder would beat on him anyway, so he might as well eat.

Once Crutchie was on his way, Jack put on his other t-shirt, ow ow ow his shoulder get dressed dammit, holy crap he’d banged up his ribs good, from the pile in the corner and pulled on his hoodie from the day before. Hood up, he grabbed his backpack and ran down the stairs and sidewalk until he was several blocks away. As many times as they’d moved, the library usually wasn’t that far, so finding it wasn’t usually that hard. Librarians didn’t ask too many questions. They’d always left him alone, and Jack made sure never to do anything to draw attention to himself. Everyone was happy that way. Settling into his usual corner, Jack slept. So warm. So quiet. Hours later he pulled himself awake. The show. He took out his script and started reading, slowly at first but then faster as he went along. He had kind of paid attention when Medda had outlined the plot, but not really. He’d spent most of the time making sure his hoodie was pulled up.

So, Billy Bigelow. Dumbass name. Anyway, kind of a loser from what Jack could tell. Slowly he made his way through the script, trying to figure out what was going on. Oh, no. Fuck no. He beats on his wife? He offs himself? What the fuck. I ain’t hitting no girl, Jack thought furiously. And what kind of idiot thinks a slap feels like a kiss? Who wrote this fucking thing? Were they stupid? Probably never been hit, assholes. Jack slammed the book shut and glared out the window. Snyder’s punches didn’t feel like no fucking kisses. Medda could find herself a new boy. He’d tell her today. Shit, he’d have to tell her now. He was going to be late.

Katherine still stared at his face. “What,” he asked shortly.

“Did your brother have another nightmare and hit you again in his sleep?” she asked, clearly reciting Jack’s unconvincing explanation from the day before.

“No, just the one.”

“You look like hell.”

Just wait till you see what I get to do to you in this show, he thought, turning away. We’ll compare notes.

“Jack, you want to touch her! Reach out!” Medda called up. Jack reached out, bending his arm at the elbow. “Reach! Your whole arm!” Jack switched arms and reached all the way out. “No, your right arm! Jack!” Jack gritted his teeth. He stretched out his right arm from the shoulder, blinking to keep the tears from falling. 

“Medda, could we please go over the next section?” Katherine asked quickly. “I’m having a hard time remembering what to do.” Jack nearly cried in relief as he put his arm down, silently trying to send his thanks. 

Jack exited the theater, glad he had his hoodie with him for the rain.

“Jacky, over here.” Jack turned to see Spot heading towards him. “Crutchie told me where to find... shit, man, he got you good, huh.” Spot looked Jack up and down. “What else he do to ya?”

“The fuck you want, Spot,” Jack asked. What, did Spot think he had x-ray vision, looking at him like that?

“Jeez, calm down. I came to get Snyder off your case. Get him something good tonight, okay?” Spot handed Jack a ten dollar bill.

Jack thought a moment. “Thanks, Spot,” he said, taking the bill. “I owe you.”

“You’re an asshole.” Spot kept walking. “I can see you, girl. You ain’t that good at hiding.” Jack whirled around to see Katherine standing a few feet away behind the entry door. Great. Jack tugged at his hood one last time, hunched his shoulders, and walked out into the rain.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Jack heard her call. He pretended not to hear her.

“Ain’t got nothing today, Crutchie,” Jack said. “I’m sorry. Some of the managers are catching on. But check this out.” He pulled out the wet ten dollar bill. “I got it on the way home. You can go on the biology field trip!” He dropped the bill on his sleeping bag. Slowly Jack pulled off his hoodie, gasping as he pulled his right arm out. He squeezed the hoodie, watching the water pour between his fingers.

“Nice! Thanks!” Crutchie grinned at him, sticking the money in his backpack side pocket. “School lunch was tolerable, so I’m good anyway. They’re gone, by the way. Good thing. He’d kick your ass for that,” he said, nodding at the puddle.

“What do you mean, they’re gone? Gone like until later tonight or gone for a while?” Jack squelched across the room and peered into the bedroom. Most of the clothes were gone. Everything else was still there. Beer bottles, spoons, candles, wrappers. Snyder evidently had put his boot through the tv screen. Jack hoped that’s what had done it, anyhow.

“Snyder said don’t wait up,” said Crutchie. “And he said you needed to pay the rent in a couple of weeks.”

“Where’d they go? Did he say?” Jack asked.

“He didn’t say.” Crutchie looked back down at his homework. Jack stood for a moment. Pay the rent? They’d be gone that long? Well, that would be nice. But rent... He sighed. Tomorrow.

“How’s about you come with me to rehearsal then, tomorrow, after school, if you ain’t gotta be here? You’d like it. It’s warmer than here, and you can get your homework done. It’d be kind of a long walk, but we can take our time, at least a little. No sense in staying in this shithole.” Jack scuffed at the floor.

Crutchie smiled. “Only if you come back to school.”

“Gimme another day.”

Katherine watched as Jack got his brother settled in a seat. That was the guy who beat the crap out of Jack? In his sleep? 

“You got enough light, Crutchie? You need anything, you just yell. Get all your homework done good.”

Jack looked up at the lights and back down at Crutchie, who rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Who’s this, Jack?” Great, here she comes, nosing in again.

“This is my brother Crutchie. Charlie. Whatever. He’s a pain so just stay away from him.” Jack smacked Crutchie with his script.

“Nice to meet you, Charlie,” said Katherine, extending her hand. “Your brother is the pain, isn’t he?”

“Half-brother,” Crutchie smiled, shaking her hand. “The awful half.”

“We gotta go, Crutch. You guys can exchange biographies later.” Jack smacked him again and Crutchie laughed.

As Jack and Katherine headed back toward the stage, Jack cleared his throat. “Uh, Katherine, this is kinda weird, but do you have an aspirin or anything like that with you? Crutchie walked too far just now. He didn’t say nothing but his leg hurts and I don’t have nothing with me.” Or at home. Or in his bag. Or anywhere. Gotta fix that, Kelly.

Katherine didn’t bat an eye, he noticed. “Of course. In my purse. Hang on just a sec.” She trotted away and came back seconds later with a water bottle and a bottle of something and headed straight for Crutchie. Jack smiled to see the look of relief on Crutchie’s face as she talked to him. He put a pill in his mouth and took a swig of water. Good.

“Katherine said she’d give us a ride home, Jack,” Crutchie had said excitedly. “Nice, huh?”

“Sure. Nice, yeah. Give your leg a break.” Jack had half smiled. Of course, take advantage of his kid brother like this. Now she’d see, though.

Katherine hadn’t said anything as she navigated their neighborhood. Jack hadn’t said anything, letting Crutchie talk about his field trip instead. She had leaned over to kiss Crutchie goodbye on the cheek and waited until they were inside before leaving. Well, Crutchie was feeling good, anyway. 

“Come on kid, get on.” Jack motioned for Crutchie to go up a few steps so he could get on Jack’s back.

“Don’t drop me.”

“I ain’t gonna drop you.” Jack nearly screamed as Crutchie pulled on his shoulder and bumped against his ribs. He settled for a grunt. He picked up his backpack and started climbing. “What you been eating at school, Crutchie? Goddam elephants?”

When Crutchie finally unlocked the door, Jack wheezing against the wall, he heard Crutchie mutter to himself.

“What, Crutchie. Whatsa matter.”

“Electric’s out. Guess you’re gonna need to pay that too.” 

Jack hung his head, putting his hands on his knees. Tomorrow. 


	4. Lunch and a Job

Jack woke up early, according to Crutchie’s clock. Clever kid, stealing batteries from school. Jack felt his shoulder, wincing, but noticing an improvement from yesterday. Slowly he got up and went over to the bedroom. Still empty. Rent, really? Jack fished in his pockets, finding lint. Eviction would land them where, exactly, he wondered, running his fingers through his hair. Homeless, jackass. He ran through the shelters they’d stayed in. All of them required having a mother with you. Spot had been evicted last week but they were staying with his aunt. Foster care. No thanks. Not that again. So, rent.

He looked over at Crutchie. He could sleep in, Saturday and all. He opened a page in Crutchie’s notebook: Be back soon. We have to be at the theater at two. I’ll find lunch for us. And rent.

“Forty-eight!” Jack had been waiting, loitering near the napkins and condiments, for the one man’s number to be called. Nice shoes. He wouldn’t want to run after him. Jack dashed forward, grabbed the paper bag, and ran out the door. Several alleys later and up on a roof, he finally stopped, peering over the edge to see if anyone was still shouting or following him. No one that he could see. He lay on his back, catching his breath. He didn’t like doing it that way. He could never go back. But Crutchie would be hungry, and he hadn’t had anything since the stupid mustard bun, so that guy could just order again. 

Finally, someone who didn’t give a shit about taxes or paperwork or checking accounts or school. “You keep your mouth shut and I’ll keep mine shut, you got that?” the manager had said. Jack got it.

Monday morning, Jack stood in front of the manager again. “Get an apron. You got a hat?” Jack pulled out his old baseball cap. “Good. Now get back there and do what you’re told.” Jack put his hat on backwards and tied on an apron. He went back into the kitchen and immediately started to sweat. Damn. Bottle this heat and take it home tonight for Crutchie, Jack thought. Six in the morning and it felt like the place was on fire.

“Who the fuck are you?” A large man flipped sausages, splattering grease onto his apron. “Get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

“I’m Jack. Jack Kelly. I’m your new help.”

The man took a second look at Jack. “You can call me boss. Come here and flip.” Jack obeyed, but as he reached for the greasy spatula, it slipped in his hand and fell to the floor. 

“Dammit!” Jack’s boss hit him on the side of the head. “What’s wrong with you?” Another hit. Jack ducked and tried to rescue the spatula. “Can’t use it now, shithead. Get another one.”

Jack looked around wildly trying to see where one might be, only to find another one being shoved in his hand. “I’m sorry, boss,” he stammered. 

“Shit. Just flip the damn sausage.” Jack looked down and tried not to screw up. His hat was already soaked with sweat, his hair stuck to his forehead. He wiped his face on his damp t-shirt sleeve. Only eight more hours.

Jack said she could take Crutchie home if she wanted, but he was going back to work. He could work until eleven, he figured, get some sleep, and head back in at six, as usual. He wasn’t sure exactly how much he’d owe in rent next week, but maybe the landlord would cut him a break this first time. Crutchie liked eating there before rehearsal. Jack would watch him from the kitchen, finally smiling to see him so happy. Jack made sure he paid attention while Crutchie was there so he wouldn’t see Jack get hit. Crutchie wouldn’t like that.

Katherine got Crutchie home as promised. She paused in her car, waiting for the door to swing shut behind him. Maybe she was hungry, she smiled to herself. He got breaks, right? They could finally chat a little, maybe. She was gutsy, right? She could do this. Trembling a little and paying close attention to the unfamiliar neighborhood, she made her way over to the diner. 

There weren’t many women in there. Men. Men who hadn’t bathed in some time. Hunched over their grimy plates, watching either their food or the tv over the counter. Katherine chose a seat at the counter so she could see into the kitchen. Jack was working, doing what she couldn’t quite tell. It was so warm in here, she noticed. Jack’s hair was wet, his t-shirt soaked down below the front of his stained apron. He wiped his forehead with his wrist and moved out of sight. Katherine ordered some coffee, suddenly not quite so hungry. A crash and clatter from the kitchen.

“Holy fuck, boy! Watch what you’re doing! You’re not leaving till that’s cleaned up, fucker.” A loud slap. Katherine looked around. No one seemed to notice. “Answer me, asshole!”

“Yes, Boss. I’m on it,” Katherine heard Jack say. She should leave. She put more than enough money on the counter and fled.


	5. Jack is Tired

Jack looked up the stairs. He'd sleep right here if he could, but Crutchie would worry. He grabbed the railing and started up. One flight. Just keep going, Kelly. Quit whining. He tried to be quiet as he unlocked the door just after midnight. Slowly, Kelly. He knew Crutchie had been trying to help, but the kid needed to sleep. So far so good. Jack dropped his money on his sleeping bag, pulled off his clothes, and stepped into a freezing shower. It would have felt great on his way out the door at work, but cold sweat and cold water just gave him the chills. He toweled off and pulled on his change of clothes from the doorknob where Crutchie had hung them to dry. Well, they were mostly dry. At least they didn't stink. He heard the water running in the kitchen. Dammit.

"Crutchie, go back to bed. I'll get it. I'm already up." But Crutchie had already scooped up his sweaty pile of clothes and dumped them in the kitchen sink. Damn if that kid couldn't move fast when he wanted to.

"I'm almost done. I don't mind." Crutchie balanced himself at the sink and scrubbed away with the dish soap in the dark. Jack collapsed onto his sleeping bag, draping his arm over his eyes. He heard Crutchie squeeze out the clothes, shake them out, and hang them on the bathroom doorknob. He moved over as Crutchie came back. 

"Didja put my money away?" Jack mumbled, putting out his arm out on the floor.

"Yeah, right here." Crutchie patted his sleeping bag. Jack snored in response. Crutchie curled up in front of him, Jack's arm as a pillow. Jack threw his other arm on top of Crutchie and kept snoring.

Jack tapped the alarm clock as fast as he could without jerking his arm. Crutchie didn't move. Jack put his head back down for a moment, watching his breath make clouds in the moonlight. Slowly he put Crutchie's folded pants under Crutchie's head as Jack slid his arm out from under. He slid his body back and out, quickly pulling the sleeping bag back over Crutchie before going to brush his teeth. Water would have to do. He picked up his shoes and hat and crept toward the door.

"You ever coming back to school?" Crutchie looked over at Jack.

"You are the lightest sleeper I ever seen," Jack complained. "Go back to sleep. It ain't even five-thirty."

"Are you?"

"Just keep telling them I'm sick."

"They know I'm lying, Jack. I ain't a good liar."

"Look, Crutchie, I gotta get to work. We need money if we want to stay here. Or do you want to go back into the system? Cuz that's what would happen. See you after school, okay? I'll make you a grilled cheese today. Eat good at school, too." Jack jingled his keychain at Crutchie and left. 

"Fifteen minutes, everyone. Not fifteen and a half. Fifteen!" Medda called. Jack broke away from the crowd, jumped off the stage, and headed back towards Crutchie.

"How you coming? Getting it all done?" he asked, flopping down in the seat next to Crutchie.

"Yeah, pretty much. How much longer, Jack?"

"Why? You in a hurry to get home or something?" Jack slouched down a little, knees against the seat in front of him.

"No, I just... I mean, maybe they're back. Not that everything would be great, I know, but you could come back to school, or..." Crutchie stopped as he felt Jack's head land on his shoulder. Crutchie sighed and went back to his essay.

"All that singing wear him out?" Katherine smiled at Crutchie as she sat in the row in front of them. "Carousel barking is tough."

"I guess," said Crutchie. "Work, more likely. He's been working about two shifts a day for a couple of weeks."

"Two... Wait, how?" asked Katherine. "I know he works after rehearsal. He can't work all night. There are laws about that, and about how many hours a kid can work each day. He can't work during school. What do you mean, two? And Crutchie, I don't know about that place. His boss..."

Crutchie looked down. Shit. Always too chatty, like Jack constantly told him.

"Crutchie." Katherine caught his eye. "Crutchie, what? What's going on?"

"Time's up! Let's go people! Clambake!" Medda shouted.

Crutchie shook Jack. "Hey, you gotta get up there."

Jack pushed back his curls and opened his eyes. "What you looking at, Kath," he muttered. "I'm coming."

"It's everything we got," Jack said, handing the wad of bills to the landlord. "My mom said she'd get the rest soon."

"You're short. Where's Snyder?"

"He's working. He told me to take all this to you and that you'd work it out."

"Since when did that bastard work? I need the rest by the end of the week or you're out, got it? Tell Snyder." Jack nodded, relieved he had a few more days. He should be able to do it at this rate. And then he could get the heat back on. And then next month's would be due. Shut it, asshole. One thing at a time.

Jack cleaned the griddle to prep for the lunch rush. Had he already done this? His boss came over, pulled him back, and slapped his face. "You already done this, asshole." Okay, well, now he knew. 

"Yes, boss." Jack stood still, waiting to be told what to do. His eyes started to close. He felt his boss grab his arm and pull him to the back entrance.

"Get these into the freezer, you little shit."

"Yes, boss." Jack shook himself awake. His shoulder twinged as he grabbed the first box and lifted. Shit. Not as much better as he'd thought. He put it down and tried rolling the box up his left leg with his left arm. Slow, but effective. He hauled it inside, balanced it against the wall, and pulled open the door to the freezer. One box in. Keep moving, Kelly. Bending over for the eleventh box, though, he saw stars. He braced himself on the stack of remaining boxes, praying there wouldn't be another blow.

"What the hell you doing? You should be done by now. Lunch rush is here. Get these goddam boxes inside now or it'll come out of your pay."

"Yes, boss." Jack forced himself to haul the rest of the boxes in with both arms, his right arm shaking. By the end of his shift he hardly knew where he was. Being slapped around had kept him awake, at least. No way he could go to rehearsal. Not today. Jack made his way back to the apartment, set the alarm for his second shift, and slept.

"Jack? You here? Kath wanted to make sure you were OK. She wouldn't take no for an answer..." Crutchie motioned for Katherine to come in. "He's just sleeping. He's fine. See?"

Katherine peeked in. What in the... Jack was sprawled on a torn sleeping bag on the floor, sound asleep. Face bruised, money clutched in one hand, his breathing was deep and even. The sleeping bags were rumpled in the corner, the carpet stained and threadbare. Holes in the drywall, a sweatshirt stuffed in a broken window. Katherine kept her coat on.

Crutchie stood there, smiling at her. "You can go, Kath. I'll get him up for work."

"Crutchie. Tell me what's going on. Why was he working during school?" Katherine shut the door behind her, just loud enough to startle Jack awake. He sat up, blinking hard. The fuck was he. Was he still dreaming. What the fuck was she doing here.

"Kath. Crutchie, what the fuck! Get out, Kath. Get out now." Jack shook his head and jumped up, opening the door and pointing the way out to Katherine.

"But Jack, I just wanted to be sure you were OK. Medda was worried, too." Katherine went into the hall.

"I'm fine. We're fine. Beat it." And Jack slammed the door in her face. She could hear him yelling at Crutchie, but didn't want Jack to catch her standing there. She picked her way past the piles of trash, trying to piece it all together.


	6. Snyder Returns

“Jack, I’m sorry. We were just worried when you didn’t show up.” Katherine pulled at Jack’s sleeve to turn him back towards her. “Crutchie said it was okay to come in.” Medda started calling for places for “If I Loved You.”

“Charlie. Don’t call him Crutchie. And what the fuck does he know. He’s just a kid. I just needed a nap, for fuck’s sake.” Jack pulled his sleeve back and headed towards stage right.

“Charlie. And he’s not that much younger than you. But Jack, is everything okay? Charlie told me how much you were working, that you were skipping school, and it seems like a really bad place to work.” Katherine paused. “Do you guys want to come over for dinner or something? I mean, I guess...” she trailed off.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just take a break from work. ‘Hey boss, I need to go to some rich girl’s house for dinner during your dinner rush.’ He’d love that. And what the fuck do you know about where I work?” He walked closer, tilting his head. “You been there? Huh? To see where this piece of white trash works? You like slumming it, rich girl? You sneak in there to get a peek at the poor life? Like it? It’s great. I’m fact, come to work with me today. You can clean out the grease trap and get the garbage bag to split open down your only sweatshirt. Mind your own fucking business from now on, got it? I can feed my little brother without your ‘help,’ princess.” He was inches from her face, hands clenched.

Katherine stepped back. “I was just trying to be nice. Maybe Charlie wants to come.”

“He don’t.”

“Cue, please!” Medda called.

“How do you know what you’d do, if you loved me?” Jack spat. Katherine stared at him, startled.

“Nice, Jack, keep it up! Very good acting!” Medda said encouragingly. “Yes, keep going!”

It was nearly one-thirty in the morning by the time Jack got back. At least he got paid, he thought, clutching the roll of bills in his pocket. They’d make the rent for this month. He could do this. He’d do it for a thousand years if it meant not going back to the shelters, to foster homes, to being away from Crutchie. He quietly opened the apartment door. What the hell. 

Crutchie was crying in the corner. Jack could make out his outline, shaking and sobbing into his shirt. “Crutchie, what happened?” Jack rushed over to him, kneeling in front of him, hands reaching out, trying to see in the dark.

“Shhhh, J-j-jack. Quiet,” Crutchie whispered urgently. Jack tried feeling Crutchie’s face. Blood? Or just tears? What the fuck? 

Jack heard a thud from the bedroom. Fuck, no. Snyder’s silhouette filled the doorway.

“What the fuck did you do to him!” Jack shouted, turning to stand up. His exhaustion vanished. 

“None of your fucking business, Kelly.” Snyder grabbed Jack by the arm. “You’re next, you little bastard.” Jack pulled and fought, but Snyder threw him headfirst into the wall. Stunned, Jack staggered backwards. Snyder punched him in the face and then the stomach. Jack collapsed at Snyder’s feet. He tried crawling away, only to get pulled up again by the front of his shirt. Massive blows hit his face. His feet couldn’t reach the floor entirely. He gasped for breath. Snyder threw him on the floor again, this time kicking him in the ribs, in the stomach, anywhere at all. Crutchie was crying, begging Snyder to stop.

“Had enough, you little fuck?” Snyder shouted. Jack tried to nod. “Say it, you little shit.”

“Yes.” Jack felt blood drool out of his mouth. He stayed hunched over on the floor.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.” More blood. He’d say anything.

Snyder stopped. “You got money?”

Jack froze. “No, sir. I get paid tomorrow.”

Snyder walked over to Crutchie. “If I find money in your pockets, Crutchie here will have two bum legs.”

Jack put his head down. He reached into his jeans pocket and held up his money. Snyder snatched it.

“Good. Got any more?”

Jack crawled over to Crutchie’s sleeping bag. “Lemme get it, Crutch.” Crutchie moved over. Jack reached into the bag and pulled out his savings. “That’s all of it. I swear.”

Snyder smiled. “Good. Now get out. You ain’t my responsibility no more.”

Jack wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Mom?” He turned to Crutchie. Crutchie shrugged a little. “Where’s our mom?” Jack asked louder.

“Dead. She overdosed. Now get out.” Jack watched, unable to move, as Snyder picked up Crutchie by the arm. Crutchie snatched up his crutch as he looked in a panic at Jack.

“Jack, help!” he cried. Snyder tossed Crutchie into the hallway and came back for Jack.

“You can’t do this! Where’s Mom!” Jack launched himself toward the bedroom, only to fall hard as Snyder tripped him. Snyder grabbed Jack’s ankle and dragged him into the hallway. Jack tried to get up. Snyder drew back his fist and smashed it into Jack’s face one last time. The door slammed shut.


	7. Keep Going

Jack stayed down, waiting for it to be over. He opened his eyes, face throbbing, and pushed himself up a little. “Crutchie...” he whispered hoarsely. Nothing. “Crutchie...” He started to panic until he heard Crutchie pull himself over to Jack. “Crutchie, you hurt? Lemme see.” Jack wiped the blood from his own face as he tried to turn Crutchie’s face toward the light flickering at the end of the hall. He couldn’t see much. Crutchie turned his face back and pressed himself into Jack’s shoulder, shaking.

“C’mere,” Jack said as quietly as he could. No neighbors would be out. Fucking stupid to get involved. He knew that, but still it hurt. It had hurt before so many times, and it hurt now. He put his arms around Crutchie and let him cry for a while. Mom was dead. Jack had sometimes wondered if it would happen like this. Foster care had started like this, Mom passed out in her car, them in the back seat, scared. Someone called the cops, and boom. Mom was a visitor, not the same Mom as she had been, even in the shelters. Shit, did he hurt all over. He was messed up bad. Like Spot the one time. Face all bashed in, gimping around. Jack spat out some blood and wiped again at his mouth. His boss wouldn’t care as long as he could work. He’d have to be at work in a few hours, he realized. They’d need money.

“You hurt, Crutchie?” Jack asked again, whispering still. “Where’d he get you?” Crutchie just stayed pressed up against him. Okay. “Crutchie, kid, we gotta go. If someone called the cops they’re gonna come here and put us back in the system. Get your crutch. We gotta go, kid,” he repeated. He wasn’t even sure he could walk.

Crutchie didn’t move. He pressed even harder into Jack. “Crutchie, come on, man,” Jack pleaded softly. “I’ll find us someplace safe, I swear. You and me, together. No one else.” Jack spat out some more blood and started to shift around to stand up. Would he ever not hurt. Crutchie took his crutch and pulled himself up, not looking at Jack. Jack could see a bruise forming on Crutchie’s face. Jack limped down the hall, stopping only once when Crutchie grabbed his hand. They kept going.

By the second floor, Crutchie had slowed so much Jack had him get on his back. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt more, he figured. They reached the ground floor and went out onto the sidewalk. Jack put Crutchie down and turned to him. “I gotta work soon. We’re gonna need some money, so maybe just today you can wait while I work, okay?” Crutchie didn’t move. ”Can you walk? I can carry you some more if you want.” Crutchie shook his head and started to walk next to Jack, tears streaming down his face. Jack couldn’t put much weight on his left leg, so he didn’t mind Crutchie’s pace.

When they reached the restaurant, the back door was locked and the lights out. Jack pointed to the stairwell to the basement door and raised his eyebrows at Crutchie. “That good? We can just wait here until my boss comes in, yeah? Out of the wind?” The went down the steps slowly and settled in on the concrete pad. Crutchie leaned in against Jack, shivering. 

“Hey, lean forward just a sec,” said Jack. He unzipped his hoodie and pulled it off. “Put this on.” Crutchie shook his head, but Jack wrapped the hoodie around him anyway. “Better?” Crutchie nodded and leaned back into Jack again. Jack ordered himself not to get cold, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. He tried to close his eyes. He could feel every spot Snyder had hit or kicked him. Now what now what now what. Him and Crutchie. No one would ever take him away again. Why hadn’t he been home sooner. Fucking greedy bastard, working more just for a little more money. Jack’s lips trembled as he thought about Snyder knocking Crutchie around. He should have been there. He held his mouth tight and leaned his head back against the wall. Money. And a place to stay. Fuck.

“Get the fuck off my property, assholes!” shouted Jack’s boss.

Jack jerked awake and looked up the steps, blinking into the bright light by the back door. “It’s me, boss. I’m here early.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“My kid brother. Crutchie. You seen him before.” Jack shifted around and shook Crutchie. “Crutchie, get up.” Crutchie woke in a panic, grabbing for Jack.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Um, just a sec, boss. Hang on.” Jack pushed himself up to standing and started to pull himself up the steps, keeping his weight off of his left leg. “It’s okay, Crutchie, I ain’t going anywhere... Uh, we, um...”

“Jesus Christ.”

Jack stopped, not sure whether he had done something wrong or not.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Our mom’s boyfriend... he, uh, he came home and... um, our mom overdosed, and he, um...” Jack stopped. “He threw us out. I need to work. We need money.”

“Fix him up.”

Jack looked at his boss as the first aid kit was thrown on the counter. “Thanks, boss.” He took a close look at Crutchie’s face, although Jack’s eyes were pretty swollen by now, so it was hard to see. Crutchie had some bruises, but not too many cuts. Jack should probably clean them anyway. He went to open the box.

“Not you, stupid. I was talking to him.” His boss pointed at Crutchie. Crutchie stared blankly at Jack’s boss. “Yeah, you. Clean your brother up so he can work today.” Crutchie reached for the box and opened it. He looked at Jack’s face and looked away.

“It’s okay. I can do it.” Jack took the kit to the bathroom. Blood all over his face. Like some horror movie, he thought. Like he slashed someone’s carotid artery (of all the things to remember from biology) and pushed his face in it. Paper towels. Soon he could see the cuts, kind of, and got the antibiotics onto the bandaids. Sloppy, but serviceable. He saw the bathroom door open in the mirror, and Crutchie came over to Jack. He took the bandaids and put them on Jack’s face.

Jack was grateful to be at the range. His boss did the running today and didn’t lay a hand on him. He let Jack make Crutchie some pancakes and bacon, and later a hamburger and fries, and didn’t take it out of his pay. He called Jack a stupid bastard every time Jack put an order up, but that was it.

“Come on, Crutchie. I’m done for now. What do you say we go to the library and relax? I ain’t going to rehearsal looking like this.” Jack gave Crutchie a tired smile.

Progress was slow. No rush, though. Jack wondered what they were doing at rehearsal. What kind of jackass thinks about that the day after he learns his mom died, he thought. Shit, she didn’t even want them. But she had done rehab. A few times. Did Crutchie miss her? Would he be mad at Jack if Jack didn’t? When was the funeral? Had Snyder said? Did he know? Where was she, actually? Jack felt a little nervous. So would they all be at the funeral? Didn’t those cost money? What did they do with people who couldn’t pay? Who would tell them how much it was? Was she in a morgue? Did they know who she was? How would they know where to find her kids? How would they know she even had kids? Jack pulled at the back of his neck. Fuck. Tomorrow.

They settled in at Jack’s favorite corner. “Hey, we gotta decide where we’re going to spend the night.” Jack looked down at Crutchie, squeezed in next to him in the big overstuffed chair. “I was thinking we could try the theater. It’d be better than some abandoned house, right? I ain’t picked a lock in a while, but I bet you could do it if I can’t. What do you think? All kinds of hiding places in there, right? Yeah? Is that a yeah? Okay. After my second shift we’ll go do that.” He pushed down into the chair so he could rest his head on the back of it. He hoped he’d wake up in time for work.


	8. Library 2 and Keeping Quiet

“Hmmph. The fuck, Crutchie.” Jack moved over a little. Kid had sharp elbows. Again. “What. The fuck.” Jack opened his eyes. The badge caught his eye first. Jack sat up, looking over at Crutchie, who had his eyes wide open.

“Afternoon, boys,” he said. “I’m Officer Kim.” Jack didn’t reply.

“I work here. Some of the staff noticed you were looking a little worse for wear and asked me to check on you. I’ve seen you around before too.” Jack ground his teeth. “Everything okay?” Jack gave a quick nod. “You got a name, son?” Jack stared at the badge.

Kim knelt down. “You’re not in trouble, son. But if someone’s hurting you, you can tell me. I can help.” Jack pulled Crutchie a little closer. “If I think you’re in immediate danger, I can take you into custody to protect you.” Jack scowled and gripped Crutchie’s shoulder hard.

“You gonna talk to me? What happened here?” Kim asked, a little more firmly. “Does he talk?” he asked, pointing at Crutchie.

“Nothing,” muttered Jack. “Ain’t nothing happened. We gotta go.” He nudged Crutchie to start getting up. Crutchie put his crutch on his arm and pulled up out of the chair. Jack got up after him, testing out his leg.

“You’re going to have to wait a minute before you go. Don’t tell me you fell down the stairs. Who did this?” Kim blocked their way.

“We gotta go.” Jack tried to push past Kim. “We’re fine.”

“You’re not fine. Let me help.”

A crash came from the circulation desk area. “Whaddaya mean you don’t have the Goblet of Fire?! What the fuck kind of library is this? I don’t want a fucking ebook! It’s fucking HARRY POTTER!” Another crash. Jack knew that voice.

Kim whirled around. “Stay here. We’re not done.” He ran towards the desk.

“Let’s go,” said Jack. He and Crutchie raced to the entrance, past the toppled display carts, past Kim handcuffing a grinning Spot, and ran as best they could down the block and into an alley. Catching their breath, Jack looked at Crutchie. “Did you know he was there? Spot?” Crutchie shook his head. Spotty didn’t see Crutchie at school today, Jack thought. He’s been waiting for them, he bet. Watching. Jack owed him a lot more than ten bucks now.

Jack was grateful to be at the range again that evening, even with no breaks. He felt the sweat dripping down his back as he gingerly wiped at his face with a paper towel. He tried to smile at Crutchie every now and then, sitting out at the counter. Back to work. A few hours later, he saw Crutchie come into the kitchen.

“Crutch, you can’t be back here. What, you hungry? Whaddaya want? Point at it and I’ll make it,” said Jack. Sweat rolled down his face and neck. Crutchie shook his head. He sat on a stool in the corner of the kitchen. “Hey, you gotta go back out. I’ll be done in a little while and then we can go.” Jack pointed to the counter with his chin, pausing suddenly when he saw Katherine sitting next to where Crutchie had been.

She was still there at closing. Jack came out to mop the dining area as ordered.

“I’ll be at rehearsal tomorrow, Kath,” he said. “Just had to take a break today.”

“Jack, what happened? Don’t tell me Crutchie did this in his sleep again. He’s pretty banged up too.” Katherine stood in front of him. Jack mopped the other way.

“Nothing happened. I’ll be there. You gotta go. We’re closed.” 

“I’m not leaving. Crutchie hasn’t said a word to me. He saw me and went straight into the kitchen.” Katherine moved around to face Jack again. He turned again.

“So he don’t feel like talking. Leave him alone,” Jack said, rinsing the mop and slopping it out again.

“Spot came looking for him at the theater. He said Crutchie wasn’t in school today. He knew that wasn’t good, Jack. You always get Crutchie to school,” her voice rising.

“So I failed, is that it? I’m sorry. So sorry!” Jack bowed to her. “How can I ever make it up to you?”

“Jack, come on. Let me drive you home. It’s after midnight,” she said quietly. “Let me at least take Crutchie home now.”

“Beat it.”

“No.”

Jack kept mopping. His boss could throw her out, but he didn’t want her out there by herself, either. “Hey, could you take us to the theater? I think I left my script there and I should study it since I missed rehearsal today. We can get ourselves home from there, no problem.”

”Won’t it be locked?” she asked, surprised.

“Not a problem for the likes of me, Kath.” He tried to smile and sound like he was joking.


	9. Medda

Katherine watched as Crutchie picked the side door lock in no time. Jack grinned at him. “Good job.” He turned to Katherine, still smiling, and said, “Thanks for the ride. We got it from here. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“I’m staying,” she said firmly. “Go get your script, and I’ll give you guys a ride home.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “I told you, we got it from here. Ain’t you out a little late? Isn’t Daddy worried?”

“I have no idea. I snuck out.” She tossed her hair.

“Huh. Well, we still got it from here. You better get home.” Jack went to close the door behind him, only to find Katherine squeezing in before he could shut it.

They hadn’t been inside more than a few seconds when they were blinded by the hall light coming on.

“What is going on here,” demanded Medda. “Explain yourselves. You think I don’t have a security system in this neighborhood?” Her voice faded as she saw Jack and Crutchie. She came closer and reached out to their faces. “Boys, what is this?”

Jack slumped on the green room couch across from Medda, his arm slung around Crutchie, his hair drying clumpy against his forehead. Katherine sat back in the recliner, turning the chair back and forth a little.

“I have to report it, Jack, whether you tell me anything or not.” Medda leaned forward. “You stay here tonight, and tomorrow we’re going to have to figure it all out.”

“Crutchie and I stay together,” he mumbled. God, he was tired. Almost time to work again. How did his boss do it, he wondered. He could tell he smelled of grease and sweat. No helping that.

“Why do you think you’ll get split up? All this,” Medda waved her hand at his face, “happened at home, then?”

Shit. “I dunno.”

“Is your mother safe?” Medda asked gently. “Is she in danger?”

Jack looked up angrily. “Come on, Crutchie.” He got up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm, reaching down with his other hand to grab Crutchie. Crutchie looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "What? You wanna stay?" Crutchie nodded.

Jack got down in front of him, kneeling on the linoleum. "We stay, they call the cops. They might split us up. You want that?" Crutchie's tears spilled over. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

Medda came over and sat next to Crutchie, taking his hand into her lap. “Jack, honey, don't run. I'll be here. I'll try to keep you together if you can't go home. But you two need some sleep first. Why don’t you take the couch here... it pulls out. I’ll find a blanket or two and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Jack looked up at her. "I gotta work at six. I ain't leaving Crutchie neither."

Medda got up and headed toward a trunk at the far end of the room. "I'll call your boss and remind him of some child labor laws. You can stay here with me and we'll get this all worked out once you have had some rest."

Jack looked at Crutchie again. "We need money, Crutchie," he pleaded. "I can do it. I did it last month. I got the rent paid. You ate good, right? I can get a place and it'll just be us, okay? I just need a little time to save up. We've slept rough before... we can do it again. Let's go, please, Crutch." Crutchie started to cry harder. He shook his head.

Jack turned to Medda. "Now look what you did. We was fine. I was gonna find our own place. I just need some time." He rubbed his eyes again.

"Pull the cushions off the couch, would you please, Crutchie," Medda asked, handing the blankets to Jack.

Crutchie pushed himself up using Jack's shoulder and began taking the cushions off the couch. "Crutchie..." Jack whispered. Crutchie didn't look at Jack as he started to tug on the mattress frame. Katherine came over to help, gently pulling Jack back so they could extend the bed, and helped Crutchie put the sheets and pillows on. Jack watched, silent. Crutchie took the blankets and put them on the bed.

“I’m coming back in the morning, Jack,” Katherine said. “See you then.”

Medda and Katherine left, leaving Jack and Crutchie to a quiet room. Jack couldn't look at Crutchie. He bent over and put his hands on his knees, staring at the floor. He ached. Finally, Crutchie plucked at Jack’s shirt. Jack looked up and saw Crutchie holding out his hand.

“I stink that bad?” asked Jack. Crutchie gave a little smile. Jack pulled his t-shirt over his head and handed it to Crutchie. As Crutchie took it over to the sink, Jack straightened up and saw himself in the mirror. Damn. Like one of those tests where they ask you if you see a rabbit or a bird or shit. Except all over his body. He started as he heard one knock before the door opened suddenly.

“Guys, I forgot my... oh, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Oh, my God.” Katherine covered her mouth with her hand. Jack grabbed a blanket and tried to cover himself. “Jack, oh my... how do you even move? How did you work like that?”

He waited a moment, eyes boring into her. “Okay. You really want to see? Here.” He dropped the blanket. “Take a good look. Look!” he shouted, as Katherine looked away. “You want to know how I work? Fucked if I know. But I need the money. So I work. It don’t matter what I look like. If me and Crutchie want to eat, that’s what I gotta do.”

“Who...” she whispered.

“Who do you think, genius? It’s always the same guy. Some boyfriend. Same shit every time. Except now there won’t be no more boyfriends. Cuz she’s dead. She finally did it this time. And now Mr. Wonderful Addict Boyfriend beat the shit out of us, again, took all my money, and threw us out. There! Now you know. Happy?”

Katherine stepped closer to Jack, hands out in front of her. Medda rushed into the room. "What in the world is going..." she stopped when she saw Jack.

"What, you wanna see too? Here! Take it all in. All the colors of the rainbow, that's me. Wanna see my back? Want to know what that's from? That's foster dad number three. You wanna know what for? When he decided Crutchie wasn't moving fast enough cleaning up the kitchen. I tried to help, to keep him from hitting Crutchie again. All I got was the whipping of my life, to remember for all time. Fucker didn't even use his belt like he usually did. He used a fucking cane. Like it? You like this scar right here? That's boyfriend number whatever, using my head for batting practice with his beer bottle. What else you wanna see? How about this one? This one's good. Crutchie and me in an alley one night, some drunk decides he wants to play with Crutchie. He tried to get me outta the way with a fucking knife. Kicked his ass." Jack glared at them.

The room was silent. Medda looked at Crutchie.

"Don't look at him. He ain't done nothing." Jack shouted. Medda turned back to Jack, eyebrows raised. "Don't do nothing to him," Jack said, suddenly quiet. "Just leave us alone, okay?"


	10. Settling

“All right, Ms. Larkin, I think have all the documentation and photos I need regarding the abuse, but we still have to start at the beginning,” said Ben Kloppman. “We need to verify that the boys’ mother has indeed, uh, passed away.” Jack and Crutchie looked at each other.

“And how exactly do we do that,” Medda asked calmly. “Do the boys have to do anything?”

”Well, I’ll need a full description, and then I can check the morgues for persons fitting that description. If we find one, or more, then yes, they will need to identify her.” Jack didn’t like the sound of that, but when Kloppman turned to him, he told Kloppman everything he knew, watching him scribble away as he talked.

“What if she ain’t there? I mean, what if she ain’t dead? Or no one found her body yet?” Jack asked nervously.

“If we can’t find her that way, then we can file a missing persons report and let the police handle that end of it. We’ll still need to find a new placement for you, either way,” said Kloppman. 

“Together,” said Jack. “We gotta be together.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Kloppman. “I’m sure you know that won’t be easy, given your ages, and, uh, history. Right now, though, I have one family who can take only one child, but they can take you today, Charles.” He faced Crutchie and smiled.

“Fuck no.” Crutchie’s voice filled the room. “FUCK NO.” Jack tried to contain his smile. That was his boy, right there.

Kloppman shifted around in his seat. “Charles, we’ll do our best to get Jack placed with you, but with his record and his age...”

“Fuck you. I ain’t going nowhere without Jack. You take me there, I’ll run away every night.” Crutchie sat back defiantly, arms crossed.

“Mr. Kloppman, if their mother is simply away at this point, wouldn’t it be wiser to just have the boys come visit me until she returns from her vacation?” Medda looking meaningfully at him.

He paused. “I suppose you are right, Ms. Larkin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kloppman. I’m sure you’ll be in touch.”

“You boys need anything from your apartment? Clothes? Any other belongings?” Kloppman poised his pencil over his notebook.

“Yeah, we got some clothes there. Not a ton. Our backpacks.” Jack looked at Crutchie, who nodded in agreement.

“Okay. I’ll get the super to let me in and I’ll get whatever I can, all right? I’ll bring it all here to the theater so you can have it all in time for school on Monday.”

Jack came to sit with Katherine in the front row of seats in the theater. Slouch, more like.

“Thanks for sticking around. I didn’t think it would take that long,” said Jack quietly. “Looks like we’re staying here for a while. Until we know if our mom is, uh, you know, really dead or not. And um, I’m real sorry about how I been yelling at you. I know you were just trying to be nice.” He cleared his throat. “Most people don’t do that.”

Katherine looked over at him, putting her arm on the armrest between them. “I didn’t know what to do, Jack. I wasn’t sure what to say. And you’re really brave to be doing all that by yourself.”

“Ain’t by myself. It was all with Crutchie.”

“You’re going back to school on Monday?”

“Yeah. Probably put me back in the first grade,” he said ruefully. “I missed so much. But I’ll still do the show. Maybe we can practice more now that I’m staying here, at least for today.”

“Are you happy? About staying here?” she asked.

“I guess. I mean, yeah. We ain’t outside, you know. I don’t think Medda will beat on us, so that’s good. I dunno how food works with her, but I still got a job, I think. We can pay since she ain’t getting paid to foster us. The electric works...” he stopped, embarrassed. “Crutchie and me, we ain’t got real high standards, I guess.”

“Do you think she’d let you come to my house for dinner tonight? You and Crutchie, I mean.” Katherine asked. “Medda could maybe use a break, right?”

“Yeah, probably. I’ll ask. Um, I ain’t got any nice clothes. All I got is what I’m wearing. It still kind of smells, I know. Crutchie did his best last night, but I’m still kind of, well...” Jack pulled at his damp t-shirt, looking at the stains on it and his jeans.

“It’s okay, Jack, really. My father won’t even be there.” Katherine smiled at him. He smiled back. How she could forgive him so easily he didn’t understand. 

Jack started humming... “You’re a queer one, Julie Jordan...” 

He leaned toward her, like he wanted to touch foreheads, but hoping she might actually, well, he wasn’t sure how much she’d want to do. She lifted her face. Could she really want to... with him... after everything she saw, everything she knows... Her hand came to his cheek and pulled him into a soft kiss. Jack paused at the touch, taken by the gentleness of her hand, her lips. He put his hand on her jaw, near her ear, surprised to be able to touch her just as gently.


	11. The Pulitzers

Jack walked a little faster. Maybe he should have taken Kath up on her offer to pick him up. People wouldn’t like seeing someone like him walking through their neighborhood. At least he’d showered, so he’d smell good in jail, he thought to himself. Hm. On second thought. Maybe he should just walk faster.

He found the address and looked at the house from the sidewalk. House. Well, a man’s home could actually be a castle, he guessed. He glanced up and down the street. Good choice, Kelly. Not suspicious at all. He smoothed out his hoodie and practically ran up the walk and pushed the doorbell before he gave himself the chance to chicken out.

Katherine pulled the door open before the doorbell stopped chiming. “I was wondering if you were going to come in! I felt like Mary Hatch watching George Bailey. Were you picketing?” She smiled at him as he tried to absorb what she was talking about, and found himself to be unsuccessful. He nodded at her, hands deep in his pockets. His eyes moved up the multi-story foyer.

“Come on, dinner is ready in the kitchen.” She took his hand and pulled him close in, tilting her head up for a kiss. Jack wondered what was happening as he kissed her. He found himself picturing Katherine blissfully asleep upstairs while he was getting his ass kicked the other night. He thought he’d seen a nice house before. The first foster family had been super nice and what he had thought was a nice house, but Jack suspected that complimenting Katherine on having hot water would not have quite the same effect as it had had on his foster mom. Too bad his mom finished rehab that go around. They had been really kind. Suddenly Jack realized he was still kissing Katherine, holding her waist, and pulled away, feeling like maybe he had kissed too long. She didn’t seem to think so.

He let Katherine lead him to the kitchen, past the dining room. “It’s just us, so I asked our cook if we could just eat in here,” she explained. “I’m sorry Crutchie didn’t come, really. He’s so sweet.”

“Yeah, well, I think he just didn’t feel like going nowhere tonight. He’s gonna have pizza with Medda,” shrugged Jack. Her cook. He kind of wished Crutchie had come too, but at the same time he was a little glad not to have to worry about him for dinner. He’s fine, he told himself. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to him. Medda said she’d order plenty. That was good, but how much was that going to cost him, he wondered. He needed to talk to Medda about that. He gave Katherine a tight smile.

They had a fucking great cook, he thought to himself as they ate. He looked up and smiled a few times until his plate was empty. Katherine smiled too, he noticed. Good. 

“Would you like some more?” she asked, offering the plate of pork chops. 

Fuck yes. “Um, sure. Thanks.” He stabbed two more and got to work. “My boss takes food out of my pay. I pay for Crutchie to get food but not me. I tell ya, leftovers from customers ain’t got nothing on this. You got a great cook.” Shit. He was talking with his mouth full. Nice going, asshole. Talk about her. Girls like it when you talk about them, Spot said.

“So, uh, you like pork chops?” he asked, swallowing. 

“Yes, I do. I think they’re delicious.” He noticed she wasn’t as happy as she’d been before. Try again, fuckface.

“You been in plays before? You’re really good.” Bingo. 

“Katherine? Are you here?” Katherine’s face suddenly got all twisty.

Jack nearly choked. “Is that your dad?” he whispered. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be home.”

“Katherine?” The door to the kitchen swung open, and a man who was clearly her father stood in the doorway. Jack jumped to his feet, looking for a back door. “Who is this?” Katherine’s father demanded. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Daddy, this is Jack Kelly, my friend from Carousel. He plays Billy Bigelow. I invited him over for dinner so we could get to know each other a little better.” Katherine gave her father a weak smile. “I should have told you. I’m sorry, Daddy. Jack, this is my father, Joseph Pulitzer.”

“Yes, you should have told me. We’ll talk about that later. Jack, good to meet you.” Pulitzer extended his hand, pausing when he saw Jack staring at his shoes. “Is everything all right?”

Jack gulped the rest of the food in his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he said, his voice cracking. “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Pulitzer, sir.” He shook Pulitzer’s hand.

Pulitzer looked more closely at Jack. “How’s the dinner, Jack?”

“Very nice, sir, thank you,” said Jack, trying to get control of his voice. “Thank you for letting me have dinner here.” Is that what people said? He wasn’t sure.

“I see you like pork chops.”

Jack felt like he was back in the kitchen at work, he started sweating so much. “Yes, sir. Thank you again. The pork chops are great.”

“What else do you like?”

“Sir?” Jack felt a noose tightening.

“Do you like pastrami sandwiches, too, perhaps? With pickles?”

“I’m not a fussy eater, sir.” Jack backed away a step. And then another step.

“Daddy, really, why are you asking him about pastrami sandwiches? We’re having pork chops and they’re fine. How about I get you a plate and we can finish them off together.” Katherine moved across the kitchen towards the plate rack.

“Mr. Pulitzer, I...” Jack grabbed his hoodie from his chair. “I think I should go. Thanks again.”

“Not yet. Empty your pockets.”

“Daddy!” Katherine dropped the plate on the counter.

“Now, boy.”

Jack kept his eyes on Pulitzer as he pulled his jeans pockets inside out. He pulled his hoodie pockets inside out. He turned around and put his hands on the kitchen counter. “Frisk me if you want. I ain’t got nothing.” Katherine stared, speechless, as she watched her father frisk Jack.

“Get out.”

Jack ran.


	12. Jack Freaks Out

Jack slowed to catch his breath. How... how could it be? He’d never see Katherine again. He’d be thrown out of the show. Medda would know. She’d kick him out. He stopped to look in some store windows down the block from the theater, and caught his reflection. He’d left his hoodie, he noticed. So much for that. He pushed his hair back with the heel of his palm. Still pretty banged up. Well, at least Crutchie would still have a place to stay. He pressed his lips together. He’d tried so hard to keep them together. It wasn’t going to happen, was it. He sighed and turned to the side entrance of the theater.

“Hey, Jack, come look at all this!” Crutchie shouted to him from the green room. Jack went in slowly, still thinking about what had to happen. On the bed were new socks, underwear, t-shirts, jeans, and sweatshirts.

“What’s going on? Crutchie, where’d you get the money?” Jack fingered the packets of socks.

“Miss Medda got it for us,” Crutchie said excitedly. “We had pizza and then she took me shopping with her so I’d get the right sizes for us. Kloppman called and said our apartment was empty. Snyder threw everything out and left. Oh, and your boss fired you for not showing up today, Medda said. She didn’t like him much and said you could get another job somewhere else.”

Figures, thought Jack. “Crutchie, I ain’t got the money to pay her back for all this. I hardly got enough to pay her for the pizza and for food tomorrow,” Jack sighed. “Don’t open nothing.”

“But...” Crutchie held up a packet of underwear.

“I said don’t open nothing! What’s wrong with you? You think this don’t cost nothing? Put it down! Someone’s gonna think I stole it and I’ll be back in juvie! Is that what you want?!” Jack shouted.

Medda appeared in the doorway. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?”

Jack turned to her, reaching into his pillowcase. “What are you doing, buying stuff I can’t pay for? Here’s money for the pizza and for tomorrow’s food. It’s all I got. I ain’t got enough for all this,” he said, pulling out his money and waving his hand at the clothes. “I know you ain’t getting money for fostering us.”

“That’s true, I’m not. But I can’t run a theater without an executive board who believes in the importance of the arts and its influence on young people. A couple of phone calls and I had plenty to help take care of you two until we figure out what is happening with your mother. I might add that Katherine’s father was particularly generous this afternoon.” Medda put her hands on her hips. “And believe me, I have the receipts for everything, so no one is going to think you stole anything.”

Jack stood very still. “I’m sorry, Miss Medda.”

“No worries, Jack, but next time, please talk to me before yelling at your brother, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, Crutchie.” Jack paused. “Miss Medda? Um, I think I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Forget it. I mean, thanks for getting Crutchie pizza and stuff. The clothes are real good.”

Jack waited until Crutchie was fast asleep. Pulitzer would have it figured out by now, no doubt. Medda would have to kick Jack out, or Pulitzer would get Kloppman to send him back to juvie. Crutchie would be taken care of, though. Maybe he could still go to that foster home. Slowly Jack rolled off the bed and slipped his sneakers on. He scrawled a note to Crutchie, squinting in the dark. He touched the soft sweatshirt Crutchie had picked out for him. Could he take it? Sure. He stole stuff, didn’t he? He pulled it on and shoved a pair of socks in the pocket. He looked at Crutchie, curled up warm under the blanket, wearing a new t-shirt. Jack had failed to take care of him, he saw now. He’d been so fucking stupid, thinking he could do it. 

“Boss, please. I’ll work a shift for free. Please hire me back.” Jack stood at the back door of the restaurant, watching his boss unlock the door for the morning. “I’m better now. I don’t gotta be at the range. And I don’t need to get to rehearsal no more. The show’s over. I can work whenever you want me to.”

His boss grunted. “I better not hear from that lady again.”

“You won’t, I swear.” Jack followed his boss inside, staggering with relief at the feeling of warmth. The sweatshirt was nice, but not that much help in December. His leg muscles wouldn’t relax. His ears started to ache.

“Get to work.”


	13. Discussions at the Diner

Crutchie took a seat at the counter and watched Jack work. Not a super great hiding place, Jack. He ordered some eggs and toast, and watched Jack make them, part of the long string of orders. Crutchie flipped open his book and waited.

“What.” Jack leaned on the counter, putting Crutchie’s plate in front of him.

“You gotta come back.” 

“What for? Pulitzer knows I stole from him. I’m outta there one way or the other, kid. I ain’t going back to juvie.” Jack wiped his face with Crutchie’s napkin, wincing as he brushed over his bruises.

“Medda said to come back,” Crutchie said forcefully. “She don’t want you working here. She’d said she’d work things out with Pulitzer. It was just a couple of fucking sandwiches.”

“Bullshit. When do things ever just magically work out?” Jack said, frustrated. “Look, Crutchie, when I save up some money and get a place, I’ll tell you and you can move in with me. Until I do that, go to that foster home what wants you.”

“Where’d you stay last night, Jacky? Where are you staying tonight? I’ll come with you.”

“You ain’t.” Jack looked down. “Look, I didn’t do so good trying to take care of you. Medda’s better for you, or maybe that new family, and you know it. Just give me a little time, okay? I’ll come get you, I swear.”

“Come back now.”

“No. Get going, Crutchie.” Jack retied his apron and went back to the kitchen.

Pulitzer leaned back and folded his hands on his stomach. Katherine had a way with her, that was for sure. He looked over at her. “I don’t want you in that place, Katherine.”

“Daddy, I know. But Jack would never let anything happen to me. You have to see how hard he’s trying. And if you want to talk to him, this is the only way.” Katherine leaned over and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for giving him another chance.”

Pulitzer grimaced. “This is the only way?”

“He’ll be out, I promise. They should be closing up soon.” She twirled her scarf.

“This isn’t how I wanted to spend my evening, Katherine.”

“I know, Daddy. You’re wonderful, you know that?” She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly at him. He couldn’t help himself, and laughed.

Pulitzer turned his attention to Jack. It was too late for a boy his age to be working, he knew that much. He saw Jack push the mop bucket out into the dining area and take a quick look behind him. No one was in sight. Jack sat down and put his head in his hands, taking off his cap and running his fingers through his soaked hair. Suddenly he snapped the cap back on and jumped up to grab the mop. His boss came around the corner and seemed to yell, pointing at the floor. Jack ducked his head and started mopping. At long last he brought the bucket to the door and dumped the water, taking a moment to take in some cold air. Not long after putting the bucket away, Jack came out with a large garbage bag in each hand and headed toward the dumpster.

Katherine hurriedly got out of the car. “Jack!” she whispered loudly. Jack nearly dropped the bags in his effort to turn. “It’s me!”

“Kath?! What are you doing here?” Jack heaved the bags into the dumpster and moved toward her. “Does your father know you’re here?” Katherine threw her arms around him. Jack sighed with relief, grinning broadly. “You still like me?” He wiped his hands on his apron and raised them to her face, cradling her cheeks. She stayed still, eyes closed, face raised, lips ready. He kissed her gently.

“Oh, Jack. I talked to him. I told him how hard you work, and I made him come see. He wants to talk to you. I bet you took his lunch because you didn’t have a job yet and wanted to get some food for Crutchie too. That’s right, isn’t it?” she asked, rubbing his back.

“Yeah. I guess,” said Jack, looking around, startled that Pulitzer was here somewhere. He took her hands from his back and brought them around front. This beautiful girl was so strange. “Don’t make no difference, though. I still took it. Your dad can send me to juvie in a snap. He’ll definitely throw me out of Medda’s. I saved her the work and left already.”

She came closer again for another kiss. “Don’t be silly. I told him not do that.” Jack nervously glanced around the parking lot again.

“Kath, you need to go home. It’s late. I ain’t coming back. All I’m gonna do now is work until I can save up enough to get a place for me and Crutchie. You can tell your dad I ain’t coming around until I do that, okay?” He leaned back a little to try to meet her eyes.

“Hey, you little bastard, get back to work!” Jack snapped his eyes over Katherine’s shoulder and quickly moved her behind him. “Get that bitch out of here, you stupid fuck.” Jack’s boss stormed out of the back door, grabbed Jack by his shirt, and hit him across the face. Jack staggered back against Katherine, caught his balance, and shoved his boss back.

“Oh ho, the little shit has grown some balls, is that it?” Jack’s boss came back slowly, grinning at Jack. Jack rubbed his thumb under his nose and put up his hands.

“Jack, stop.” Pulitzer appeared from the shadows. “Don’t do it. Come with Katherine and me back to our house. We’ll talk there.”

Jack glanced over at Pulitzer for a moment, keeping an eye on his boss. “Right.”

“You’d rather stay and fight with him??” Katherine exclaimed in disbelief, hand open, pointing at Jack’s boss.

“He ain’t about to arrest me. He pays me.” Jack circled a little, rolling his shoulder.

Jack’s boss smirked. “You’re here to ‘help’ this asshole?” He looked Pulitzer up and down. “What you ever done for him? Jacky here knows he owes me.” He lunged at Jack and caught him on the side of the head and again in the jaw. As Jack reeled, his foot caught in a pothole and he fell to the icy pavement. “Too easy. Get back inside, you lazy bastard. And you, get the fuck out of my parking lot,” he ordered Pulitzer.

Jack braced himself on his elbows and knees, head down, rocking. Pulitzer saw the holes in the soles of his sneakers, the frayed collar and sleeves of the tshirt. He had given so gladly when Medda had called. He sighed. “Jack, I’m not going to have you arrested. You should stay at Medda’s.” He motioned for Katherine to help him get Jack up. 

Jack scrambled away at the touch, turning himself over so he could see Pulitzer. 

“Jack, please,” Katherine pleaded, kneeling next to him, touching his shoulder.

Jack watched Pulitzer. “I had to get something for Crutchie. I ain’t sorry. I gotta get back to work.” He got to his feet, brushing his hands on his apron and turned to go inside. Katherine took his hand, stopping him.

“I mean it. You come with me, I’ll find you a job. A better one. And you’ll be with your brother.” Pulitzer held out his hand. Jack looked at Katherine, who nodded at him. 

“For sure?”

“Yes.”

Jack shook Pulitzer’s hand. He took off his apron and left it on the parking lot.


	14. Identification and Jack Loses It

Jack looked over at Crutchie. His lip was trembling as he started tapping on his crutch. Jack reached over and steadied his hand. Crutchie pulled away.

“Boys, did your mother ever have a bank account that you know of?” Kloppman tried to be gentle. Jack shook his head. “Bonds? Savings?” Jack shook his head again. “Okay. In that case, if you want to, I can take you back to the morgue to say goodbye if you like.”

Jack definitely did not want that. Identifying her had been hard enough.

“Yes, please,” said Crutchie. Great. Now he’d have to go again. But wait.

“Will Snyder be there?” Jack asked, trying to sound calm and mature. “Will he be at the funeral?”

“Boys, here’s the thing,” Kloppman started. “We can’t stop Snyder from coming to the morgue, but he won’t know when you’re going to be there, so he probably won’t be there when you are. And, uh, because your mother died without any, um, any funds, it’s hard to find a funeral home or a church that will do a funeral for free. Unless something changes, your mother will be buried on Hart Island at the end of the week.”

Fine, thought Jack. He wasn’t planning on camping out at her grave anyhow. 

“But that means we can’t visit her grave,” Crutchie said quietly. “How will we know where she is?”

“I’m afraid you won’t, Charlie. I’m sorry.” Kloppman put down his pen. Jack got up and walked out. Finally, they were done.

“I won’t do it,” said Jack. “I ain’t hitting no girl.”

“Jack, it’s a slap on the hand. You have Maddy’s permission, remember.” Medda looked at Maddy, who smiled impatiently. “The show opens this weekend, Jack. You’ve got to get this scene down now.”

“It’s okay, really,” said Maddy. “You don’t even have to do it that hard.” Jack shook his head. “Okay, how about this. You hold my hand in yours, like this, palm to palm. But you move your hand over a little, but the audience can’t see, and you slap your own hand.”

Jack looked at Medda. “Can I?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Maddy. Moving on, folks, let’s go!”

Jack surveyed the table in their room. Crutchie had it covered with his books and papers. Sighing, Jack retreated to the bed to set up his own books.

Crutchie looked up. “What’s with the moaning?”

“You took over the whole table. Again.” Jack flung open his backpack.

“What, you’re such a scholar all of a sudden? What do you care?”

Jack got up from the bed and pointed at Crutchie. “I gotta be one now. I gotta pass everything with a C if Pulitzer’s gonna keep helping Medda with us. That’s the deal and you know it. And it’s not like I liked dropping out or doing lousy. I did it for us, you know. So we could stay together. Even before I dropped out I took more crap than you did so that you could go to school looking good. Remember that.”

“I never asked you to. I can take care of myself!” Crutchie said loudly, shooting Jack an angry look.

“That’s fucking bullshit. You want I should have let Snyder beat the crap out of you instead of me? Hm? And it wasn’t just him. You know how many beatings I took for you before he came along? Foster dads two and three? Boyfriends one through sixty-seven? Remember them? Yeah, you, when you ate the last of the bread, or didn’t get the dishes done, or whatever, I said it was me, jackass, not you. Or how about when we was in the shelter and them big kids tried to mess with you. You got to school the next day, didn’t you. I was the one hiding in the storage closet until school was over with my face beat to hell. And I did it because you’re my little brother. So yeah, I wanna do good in school now. Cuz I can now, get it?” Jack took his pencil and threw it across the room.

“You don’t need to protect me! You think I liked it that you missed all that school because of me? So if you care so much about me, why didn’t you come back when I asked you to? You only came back when some girl told you to and her rich daddy promised you a job. You were ready to drop kick me to another foster home!” Crutchie was in tears.

Jack stared at him. “I thought I was getting thrown out anyway, Crutch. I didn’t give you these clothes,” he said, pulling at Crutchie’s new sweatshirt, “or this bed, or heat, or nothing. You were gonna do good here. Better than being with me, that’s for sure. I didn’t get it done, little man! I got rent and that was it. And even that I got stolen from me! You know that!”

“I wanted you to come back! And you said no—you were going to leave me. You swore we’d be together. If you care so much, then why don’t you care where Mom gets buried? It’s Mom! She’s never coming back!” Crutchie cried. “You just sat there, totally fine with sending her to an island and never seeing her grave ever. What’s wrong with you?”

Jack hit him in the face. Hard.


	15. Jack and Medda

Medda heard the crash from the kitchen and came running.

Crutchie pulling himself up from the floor. Jack standing over him. Total silence.

Crutchie came over to Medda. “Could I please make a bag of ice, Miss Medda? I think I’m gonna need one.” She nodded and got out of his way.

Jack didn’t move. “He don’t need no bag of ice,” he said, his voice hard. “He’s fine. I was fine. I never got no bag of ice.”

Medda waited a moment, then sat on the end of the bed. “Come sit with me.”

Jack turned. “No. I don’t need no lecture.”

“Sit. I didn’t say talk.”

Jack sat. Medda sat with him. After a minute, she took his hand and held it in both of hers. Jack felt the tears coming and blinked them back. “What’s wrong with me, Miss Medda?” he whispered.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Jack.” She rubbed the top of his hand.

“Why don’t I care where she’s buried?” He looked away from her, across the room.

“Oh, Jack, I don’t know. Maybe it’s too hard to think about. Maybe you’re mad. You’ll figure it out. But nothing is wrong with you,” said Medda.

Jack continued to look across the room. “Why don’t nobody love me? What did I do?”

“Baby, you never did anything. You got people who love you. Crutchie loves you. I love you.” Medda took his chin and turned his face towards hers. “You hear me?”

Jack nodded miserably, averting his eyes, tears starting to spill over. “Why didn’t my mom love me? Why do people keep beating on me, then?”

“You got a raw deal, baby. Your mother, seems to me, just couldn’t keep her demons at bay. Sometimes her demon was drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a bad boyfriend. Sometimes both. You got trapped in that whole mess and you got hurt an awful lot.” Medda wiped his tears with a tissue. “But you got love now, Jack. You gotta take care of it.”

Jack looked down. “He always held my hand after I got beat.”

“What are you going to do, then?” Medda took his hand again.

“I think I should go get him a fresh bag of ice, yeah?”

Medda patted his leg. “I’ll do that, Jack. Why don’t you come with me and keep him company for a while.”

“I’ll say I’m sorry. I am, Miss Medda. I won’t do nothing like that again, I promise.” Jack hesitated. “What are you gonna do to me for hitting him?”

Medda sighed. “Do to you? Nothing. You have some fences to mend, and that will be hard enough.”

Jack followed Medda into the kitchen. Crutchie sat at the table with a bag of ice on his cheek. He glared at Jack. 

“Need some new ice?” Medda asked, holding out her hand. Crutchie handed her the bag and scowled at the table.

Jack sat down across from him, sitting back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Crutchie. I’m real sorry. I shouldn’t have hit you and I’ll never do it again. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s true.” He rested his hands on the table and fiddled with his fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you care where Mom’s gonna be buried?” Crutchie put the new bag of ice on his face. Medda refilled her coffee cup and sat with them.

“I do care. I just... I just don’t think I’d go visit her grave no matter where it is, is all. I mean, if you want to, I’d go with you. But they don’t let nobody on that island except the people doing the burying. So does it matter where she is on it?” Jack said evenly.

“No. But you seemed kind of glad she was gone. Like you never wanted to talk about her again.” Crutchie looked at Jack. “I miss her.”

Jack focused on his hands. “Yeah, well, I guess I don’t. It was shitty way to live, Crutchie.”

“She could be nice, too,” Crutchie said. “She could.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay. I ain’t gonna argue with you.” They were quiet for a while, Crutchie adjusting the bag on his face.

“Crutchie.”

“Yeah.”

“I ain’t never gonna leave you.”

“Okay.”

Jack put out his hand, palm down, resting it on the table. Crutchie looked at it for a moment, and then slowly put his hand on top.


	16. Jack Gets Naked and Hates His PJs

Jack watched Crutchie get into bed. “Ready?” he asked, hand on the light switch. Crutchie nodded, and Jack turned off the light before getting into bed himself.

Jack waited a few minutes, until he could tell Crutchie was still awake. “Crutchie?”

“Charlie.”

“What?” Jack didn’t follow.

”I don’t want to be called Crutchie no more. Charlie.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, sorry. Charlie?” Jack felt strange calling him that. Social workers and teachers used that name. But okay.

“Yeah? What?”

“I’m a mean bastard.”

“You don’t say.” Charlie shifted around, pulling the blanket over him a little more.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize till the day I die if it’ll help.”

“It won’t.”

“How about if I apologize naked on stage?” Jack grinned.

“No one needs to see that.”

“Right now.”

“Are you serious? Go to sleep, asshole.” Charlie shifted again, but Jack could hear a little bit of a smile in his voice.

“Let’s go. Come on.” Jack got out of bed and turned the light back on.

Charlie squinted at him. “You’re on.” 

Jack held the door open for Charlie and peered down the hall. No sign of Medda. She was a deep sleeper, and after this evening Jack was willing to bet she had made sure she would sleep well tonight. He closed the door quietly and followed Charlie to the stage door. The string of Christmas lights Medda kept on all the time gave him just enough light to see the edge of the stage.

Jack went to center stage and took off his tshirt, pajama pants, and underwear. He got on his knees and held out his arms. “Charlie, I am sorry. I am sorry for hitting you. I swear to you I will never do that again.”

“Louder.” Charlie was enjoying this, Jack could tell.

Jack shouted, “Charlie, I am sorry. I am sorry for hitting you. I swear to you I will never do that again.”

“Better.”

“Shh!” Jack grabbed his clothes, holding up his hand. “Someone’s coming.” They scrambled back to their room and jumped into bed, out of breath, trying not to laugh. Jack pulled his side of the blanket up over his shoulders.

“Boys? Everything okay? I thought I heard shouting.” Medda knocked on the door and peered in.

“We’re fine. Must have been some drunks outside,” Charlie said, a little too loudly, Jack thought.

“Okay, then. Sleep well, you two.” Medda shut the door. Something was up, but as happy as Charlie sounded, it was probably left well enough alone.

Jack snorted as Charlie silently shook with laughter. Jack reached down for his pants and underwear, sliding them on under the covers. He sat up and put on his tshirt.

“So, Charles, I have a question for you,” he said. “What the fuck was up with buying me Red Sox pajama pants?”

“It was all they had in your size that day,” Charlie said, grinning.

“The fuck it was. I look like a fucking idiot. I’m probably the only kid in New York with Red Sox pajama pants.” Jack tried to sound mad but couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Suck it up, asshole.”

“Good night, Charles.”

“Good night, Jack.”

Jack held out his hand to Charlie. Charlie grabbed it and held it tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!


	17. Funerals and Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dark humor, or attempt at humor, in this chapter regarding death and burial arrangements. If you are dealing with these issues, please consider that this might not be the chapter for you right now.

Pulitzer looked at Jack, sitting across from him at the kitchen table. Certainly a far cry from the beaten boy who had stared out the back window of his car...

He had watched Jack in the rear-view mirror as Jack had rested his sweaty head against the window, shaking in his ratty tshirt. Pulitzer had cranked up the heat, but it took time.

“Mr. Pulitzer, can you let me out, please?” Jack had asked.

“I’m happy to take you to the theater, Jack. It’s no trouble.” Pulitzer looked back again in the mirror.

“I gotta go back to the restaurant.” Jack rubbed his eyes. Katherine turned back to look at him, startled.

“Jack, we talked about this. I can find you a better job,” Pulitzer said. “No need to go back there.”

“I ain’t got paid. He got the one shift for free, but I gotta get paid for the rest. Just let me out here.” Jack looked at Pulitzer in the mirror, moving to be ready to open his door.

“Jack, it’s not safe,” Katherine interjected. “He hit you! He’ll never pay you now. Surely he’s noticed you left, and left the apron in the parking lot. He’ll hurt you again!”

“As long as he pays me, I don’t care. He’ll pay me. He always has.” Jack looked at Pulitzer in the mirror again. “Please just let me out.”

Pulitzer pulled over and stopped the car. He looked back, his arm behind the passenger seat. “What do you mean, ‘he got one shift for free’?”

“For hiring me back. I said I’d work a shift for free if he’d hire me back. Thanks for the ride. And for helping me get a new job. I’ll be good from here.” Jack sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He went to open the door, but Pulitzer locked it. Jack jiggled the handle.

“Can you unlock this, please?” Jack asked.

“I don’t think so. Listen, tomorrow I will send my manager over to collect your money. If he doesn’t pay, then perhaps it will be time to ask the health inspector when he last visited that place.” Pulitzer looked hard at Jack. “He cut a lot of corners with you, I’m thinking. Not much can be done about that. But you have to be paid for shifts you worked. Don’t ever let someone take that away, Jack.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jack. “I can take care of my own business, though.”

“Very well. Tomorrow you can go with my manager and learn how it’s done without resorting to violence. Is that a compromise we can all live with?” Pulitzer asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Jack. “Deal.” They shook hands.

Jack looked over at Pulitzer. “Thanks for having me over for dinner. Again, I mean. Thanks. And thanks for helping Medda with, you know, Charlie and me. I’m doing good, well, I’m doing well in school, in case you were wondering. I got pretty good grades so far.”

“It’s time we got started on the right foot, don’t you think?” Pulitzer replied. “And I’m not the only one helping Medda. The entire board is contributing. We’re happy to help her care for you and Charlie until your situation is sorted out, provided you hold up your grades. It seems better than splitting the two of you up.”

“Yes, sir, thank you. Um, are you coming to the show this weekend?” he asked. This was hard, thinking of what to say. All he could think about was how to get away with Katherine, alone.

“Of course he is!” Katherine said, rolling her eyes. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s president of the board, and his daughter has the lead, you know.”

Jack looked at his plate. “I dunno. I was just asking.” He pushed at his mashed potatoes. His first foster dad had come to a school choir concert when he was little. He’d even taken a picture of Jack afterwards, all dressed up. Maybe that was what Pulitzer did too. How the hell should he know? Jack remembered the dress shirt his foster dad had bought for him, brand new, watching in astonishment as his foster dad had taken scissors to cut a slit in the one sleeve so his cast would fit, and then safety-pinning the cuff so it would look good. “So proud of you, Jacky,” he’d said. “I loved watching you sing.”

“So, um, the other day I identified my mom.” He tried again. Did people talk about that? Shit. Evidently not. Katherine’s eyes were huge. Pulitzer took a long blink. “Sorry,” he muttered. Try again, shithead. He exhaled. “Um, Medda’s real close to getting her foster care training done so she can keep Charlie. Really close. She’s really close, I mean.”

“My apologies, Jack,” said Pulitzer. “I’m sorry you had to identify your mother. When is the funeral? We’d be honored to attend, if you’d like.”

Jack wished he’d kept his stupid mouth shut. “Um, there ain’t, isn’t, going to be a funeral. She’s, uh, going to be buried tomorrow.”

“But the show opens tomorrow!” Katherine exclaimed. “Jack, that’s too much. Can’t it be done another day?”

“Not really. It’s okay. We can’t be there anyway, me and Charlie. Charlie and I.” Dammit. Pulitzer was watching him. Jack felt so stupid trying to talk right. He was doing good in school, really. Why did he sound so stupid all the time. Fuck.

“Jack, forgive me. Where is she being buried?” Pulitzer asked.

“Hart Island,” he mumbled.

Pulitzer watched him some more. “Is that what you want? Is that what Charlie wants?”

“Don’t matter what we want. Charlie doesn’t like it, but, you know...” Jack trailed off. He tried to smile at Katherine. “The show will be great tomorrow, though. I think I want to do another one. Maybe we can do another show together.”

Pulitzer cleared his throat. “Could I offer to have her buried here, so Charlie has a place to visit? I don’t want to overstep, but I’d be glad to do it.”

Jack bit his lip and looked at Pulitzer carefully. “How much? Charlie would like that. You can take it out of my pay once I start work next week.”

Pulitzer gave him an equally careful look. “I’ll give you a choice. You can either get all B’s or higher for the rest of the year, or pay half six months from now, once you have some money saved up.”

“Cremation is cheaper, right? Could we do that? In case the grades don’t work out?” Jack felt a small flicker of hope.

“Surely.”

“Deal.” They shook hands over the table. Is this what people talked about at dinner, Jack wondered. Making deals on how to bury your mother? He looked over at Katherine. She was watching them, frozen in disbelief.

“Hey, Kath,” he said softly. “Grades for Graves. We could start a franchise.” He started to grin.

She turned to him slowly. “You two are the worst people ever.” She closed her eyes and started to laugh.

The ride back to the theater would need a detour, Jack decided. “Hey, I think you need to pull over. There’s something hanging out your back door on this side.”

Katherine checked the side mirror on Jack’s side. “I don’t see anything.”

“Can’t you hear it? It sounds bad.” 

Sighing, Katherine pulled over. Jack got out and waited for her to join him by the rear passenger door. “There’s nothing there, Jack.”

“Really?” he asked, in mock surprise. “How about now?” He turned her toward him and kissed her. “Is there something there now?”

She smiled and slapped his shoulder, kissing him back. “You’re terrible.”

“Believe me, Kath, I know.” He held the back of her head, fingers intwined in her hair, as they kissed again. She ran her hands up his side, first outside of his shirt, then underneath, up his chest. Lord. He grabbed for the door handle and opened the door, getting the two of them in the back seat without stopping the kiss. She sat up against the far door as Jack pulled up her top and kissed her breasts. She grabbed at his hair as he worked his way up her neck and back to her lips. He pulled her back over on top of him, straddling his hips, and pulled his shirt off. She pushed her chest and hips toward him as he buried his face in her breasts again. She leaned her head forward and started kissing his ears, his neck, his collarbone. Her hands rubbed his chest hard, moving slowly down to his hips. He thought he was going to die right there.

“Jack,” Katherine whispered, “we have to stop.” 

“We really don’t,” he whispered. He pushed her hands into the waist of his pants.

She gazed at the boy looking up at her. “We do.” She brought her hands up to his face and kissed him, pulling his bottom lip with her teeth as she pulled away.

“Okay,” he moaned. “But that was fun.” She smiled, touching his nose with hers.


	18. When You Walk Through a Storm

Jack looked at Charlie. “Whaddaya think? Think I can do this?” He grinned excitedly as he found his costume on the rack.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “You’ve only been rehearsing for weeks and weeks. If I hear you sing Soliloquy one more time I’m going to scream.”

“Not during the performance, okay?” Jack pulled on his undershirt. “That would be rude. Not that that would stop you.”

“You got it. I’m gonna go. Medda asked me to usher, whatever that means.” Charlie turned to go.

“It means don’t be a jackass to the folks coming to the show. She obviously chose poorly.” Jack grinned again and pointed to the door with his chin. “See you later.” He jogged in place, pointing to the door, to show Charlie that he should get going. Charlie spun around and disappeared as other boys came into the dressing room for their costumes.

Jack turned to the mirror to get his costume on. “My boy Bill...” he whistled, moving so that other kids could get by as they got their hangers down. There wasn’t enough room, and before anyone could stop it the rickety costume rack teetered toward Jack and crashed to the floor. Some of the plastic hangers snapped. Crack. Crack. Jack jumped back, startled. He looked around the room wildly. Snyder appeared at the door. “What the fuck did you do?” he shouted.

Jack backed into the corner, eyes wide. He held his hands up, reaching out toward Snyder. How had Snyder found him. “It was an accident! I swear! I didn’t mean to!” He hit the wall with his back and slid to the floor. Snyder walked closer, snapping a belt between his hands. Fuck. Jack ducked his head and curled into a ball.

“We’ll start with twenty and then we’ll see how sorry you are, you fucking coward.” Snyder held the thick belt over Jack and laughed. His face suddenly lost its smile and Snyder brought the belt down hard on Jack’s back. Jack tried not to cry. “It’s twenty, boy. You can’t cry now. Man up, you little bastard.” Jack clenched his fists. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Still Jack didn’t move. “Not enough? How about now?” Snyder hit him six more times. Jack strained his face and neck, trying not to scream. Seven. Eight. Nine. “You better say you’re sorry or your miserable brother’s gonna get worse.” Ten. Eleven.

”I’m sorry!” Jack cried. “I’m sorry! Don’t hit him! Whip me!” He sobbed into the floor. “Hit me!”

Snyder bent down and pulled Jack’s head up by his hair. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, waiting for the hit. “Stay with me. You’re okay. You’re okay. Ain’t no one here, Jacky. Just me. It’s me, Crutchie.” Jack jerked back, eyes still closed. “Jacky, open your eyes.” Jack shook his head, staying hunched over on his knees.

“I’m the only one here, Jack.” Charlie glanced back at the doorway, giving a little smile to Medda and Katherine. “Trust me.”

Jack listened. There were no other sounds. He heard Crutchie talking to him. It was quiet. He opened one eye. 

“That’s it. See? It’s just me. Ain’t no one else here.” Charlie was sitting on the floor, smiling at him. “You’re doing great.”

Jack started to breathe again. He waited, just to be sure. He opened his other eye. “Crutchie?” 

“Yeah, Jacky. Just me. See my crutch?” Charlie held it up.

“You okay?” Jack reached out to him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No one hurt me. You protected me. You did good. You always did.” Charlie smiled again.

Jack touched Charlie’s knee. “You’re okay.” He put his hands on the floor and pushed himself up a little. “Where’s Snyder?”

Charlies face dropped a little. “He ain’t here, Jacky. He never was. You thought he was, but he wasn’t. You got scared when the rack fell over and imagined he was here.”

“He was here. He beat the crap out of me with a belt again.” Jack looked around cautiously.

“No,” Charlie said firmly. “He ain’t here.” He caught Jack’s eye. “You hear me?”

Jack nodded, slowly. “He ain’t here.”

“That’s right. I’m the only one here,” Charlie repeated.

“Charlie.” Jack put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. He held Charlie’s face.

“That’s me.”

“What time is it?” Jack asked, suddenly aware of where he was.

“Time to get dressed and get this show started. Can you do that?” Charlie asked.

“Hell yes. Let’s go.”

Jack took Katherine’s hand and led her forward to the front of the stage. She curtseyed. Jack took his bow. The company bowed, raised hands, and bowed again. Jack saw Charlie cheering from the back row and pointed at him.

“Jack? Jack Kelly?” Jack turned to face the man calling his name. “Do you remember me? Probably not.” Jack’s memory started to turn. No way. “I saw the article about the production in the arts section, and I just had to come. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Mr. Jacobs?” Jack asked, not quite sure. He looked at the man and the woman standing next to him. “Mrs. Jacobs?”

“Mayer, please. And Esther.” Mayer held out his hand, which Jack shook immediately. “We loved you, Jack. You and Charlie. We were so sad to see you go, but we hoped for the best.”

Jack stared at them. “I remember you.”

“How are things for you and Charlie?” Mayer asked kindly. “I hope all is well.”

Jack looked at him, silent. Where to even begin.

Mayer’s smile faded. He nodded. “You made it, Jack. Think of that. You made it.”


End file.
